Dead or Alive
by Liete
Summary: -UK/US, AU- 'Iggy was the sheriff now, was he? And here Alfred thought that the townsfolk would have run him out after his failure to capture the rotten outlaw Alfred Jones five years ago.'
1. Chapter 1

**Dead or Alive  
**

**By: Liete**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters portrayed.**

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* * *

**

There was nothing he loved more than freedom. The sun on his face, the wind in his hair, and the monster of a train beneath him. It was a liberating feeling standing on top of the train as it puffed on to its next destination, opening up a world of possibilities he couldn't get by staying in that nowhere hometown of his. He had fame (make that notoriety) now besides.

Alfred could just _hear _the wailing of his dear old Ma, crying about how she didn't raise her boys to be no good outlaws, so where had things gone wrong? What Ma didn't know was that Alfred _wasn't_ the dirty outlaw everyone thought he was, he was the hero he'd always said he'd be. Too bad no one else saw it that way, what with the real culprits always getting away and him taking the blame. Sure was tough being a wanted criminal when you didn't do anything wrong! But as far as he was concerned, it just made life more interesting.

He laid back on the train and lowered the brim of his hat over his eyes. The whistle would wake him when the train reached its destination.

---

He waited until all the passengers had shuffled off the train before he jumped off and surreptitiously made his way into town. He was both relieved and disappointed to see that his poster was not amidst the others pasting a wall. Disappointed because he thought it was a rather dashing picture and it would be much more pleasant to look at than the ugly mugs of those real scoundrels. Relieved because that probably meant he could get a meal and a room without being answered by several pistols. There was only one way to find out, and so he made his way to the local saloon.

There were no gasps or screams of terror when he pushed through the door, so he entered blithely and made his way to the bar. Not a single person recognized him? Just how far west had he traveled this time? Maybe he'd made it to California?

Alfred's thoughts of finding wealth were interrupted when he was greeted by a pretty lady who was well endowed. _Very_ well endowed and so, much as he liked to appreciate the women, he had to avert his eyes.

"What can I get you, sir?" she asked sweetly with an accent he didn't recognize and Alfred looked back at her. He could tell, just from her tone and the warm smile on her face, that she was a sweet girl. The kind who should have been a schoolmarm instead of trapping herself in a dirty saloon with dirty men who would take advantage of her kindness. And whose wise idea was it to put her behind the bar?

"Whiskey, ma'am," he answered with his best smile. "And your name if it ain't too much trouble."

She blushed and wrung her hands as she somewhat clumsily poured the drink. "My name is Katyusha…and yours?"

"Alfred, and the pleasure's all mine, miss Katyusha." He paused and smiled as she babbled something about the sentiment being the same. "So what's a pretty lady like you doing here?"

"Helping my brother," she responded with a smile and motioned to a man standing at the opposite end of the counter. Alfred felt a chill down his spine when he turned to see who she was referring to. It was a large man with a pleasant smile on his face and a murderous aura about him. So much for asking the lovely miss Katyusha to run away with him, Alfred thought miserably as he focused his attention on his whiskey.

He didn't get the chance to enjoy it, however, because there were suddenly gunshots and the rapid sound of hooves across the street. Hadn't there been a bank there? Alfred looked over his shoulder and squinted through the darkness at the scene unfolding across the way. Bank robbers, sure enough. Alfred tsked and threw back a gulp of the whiskey.

Miss Katyusha was watching with some anxiety, which made Alfred's hero complex bubble to the surface. Maybe this time he'd be the hero of the town instead of its feared outlaw. He nodded, tilting his hat as he did so, and winked at Katyusha and cast a wary glance over at her brother before he grabbed the nearest empty bottle and made his way out of the saloon towards the bank.

Showtime.

---

Alfred hooted and hollered as he urged the horse he'd stolen to go faster, _faster!_ and looked over his shoulder at the group of men following him with pistols a-blazing, Katyusha's brother at the front of the fray.

He'd stopped the bank robbery, of course, but then he'd been the one left holding one of the _real_ criminal's guns over all those unconscious bodies when the sheriff had shown up. What choice did he have but to drop the gun and hightail it out of there? Sure, he felt a little guilty stealing the horse, but it wasn't like he was planning to keep it or anything. He just wasn't about to be caught and tried for a crime he didn't even commit.

He heard the familiar whistle of the train and urged the horse to pick up even more speed, knowing if he didn't make it, he was a dead man. Bullets continued to whiz past his head as he steered the horse along the train station platform. Alfred gritted his teeth as he reached for the railing on the last car and swore as he missed. He was running out of platform and the horse couldn't run forever, his pursuers still hot on his trail. He bit his lip and threw his arm out as far as he could and grinned as he grabbed the railing and easily swung off the horse and onto the train. He whooped as he climbed to the top of the train and laughed victoriously. The bullets were now flying past him in greater numbers as he turned to regard the group of men. He pulled off his hat and shrugged with a devil-may-care grin on his face, the wind whipping his coat around as the train sped away from the platform.

It was just too bad he wouldn't be around to see when his wanted poster went up, because he wondered how miss Katyusha would have reacted when she realized how friendly she'd been with such a dangerous man. He had to laugh at the thought.

---

He was heading back east.

He had the feeling the train he'd hopped on in his desperate ploy to escape had been an eastbound train, but that didn't stop him from pouting in disappointment as the train pulled into a town he'd already been through (and had left a bad impression on). So much for his dreams of California. He couldn't very well hop a westward train just yet either, as he had the suspicion that Katyusha's brother would still be looking for him if he passed through town again. He blew his hair out of his face in frustration and contemplated picking a few pockets for enough money to bribe some kid to get him some food. He continued to weigh his options when the anxious mutterings of some passengers drifted up to where he was laying down.

"I've been thinking of moving a little further eastward. I heard that new sheriff Arthur Kirkland takes care of any outlaw that passes through his territory!"

"And I hear he's handsome, to boot!"

The women giggled as Alfred processed what he'd just heard. He had to raise an eyebrow and whistle at that revelation. Iggy was the sheriff now, was he? And here Alfred thought that the townsfolk would have run him out after his failure to capture the rotten outlaw Alfred Jones five years ago.

If he was heading back east anyway, perhaps some congratulations were in order? Besides, it would be a lot of fun to see good old Iggy again, anyway.

---

Arthur took yet another swig from his bottle of whiskey as he stared bleary-eyed at the line of wanted posters lining the interior of the jail.

He was bored out of his mind.

Ever since he'd been appointed sheriff, no outlaw who valued his life dared pass through that little town. He never let them get away, and he was ruthless in his punishments. It didn't matter the crime, they were all executed. Dead or alive were the terms, after all. But it seemed that word spread quickly, because there wasn't any need for Arthur to show off his quick draw skills, marksmanship and ruthless pursuit.

Instead he spent his days drinking and staring at _that_ poster.

Alfred F for 'Fucking' Jones.

He'd had quite the time re-establishing his reputation after he'd let Alfred slip through his fingers instead of killing him five years ago. No one needed to know that the reason Alfred had gotten away was because Arthur had been soft on him.

They most certainly didn't need to know that he was _still_ soft on him.

Arthur threw a knife between that bastard's eyes and cursed that cocky grin on his face, not caring that it was a poster and not the real thing. Should he ever show his face again, he'd be sure to put an end to his life. No hesitation. No letting a few heated tumbles in the sheets stay his hand on his pistol. The man was a dangerous criminal, not the hero he said he'd be.

Arthur kicked his feet up on his desk and thought about stirring up some trouble just so he'd have something to do (and something to take his mind off Alfred). His deputy would alert him if there was any real trouble. The man was a cowardly Italian, but he could at least be counted on to let _everyone_ know that they were in danger.

In the end, the alcohol in his system lulled him to a sleep filled with dreams of blue eyes and arrogant smiles.

---

He knew he was back home without even having to sit up. There was something about the air that was different in his hometown, or maybe it was the way the sky looked. Whatever it was, Alfred smiled when the train slowly came to a stop. Home sweet home.

Too bad he wouldn't be able to check on his parents or ask how his brother was doing in school in the east, but he just wanted to rile Iggy up a bit before he hopped another westbound train to his next adventure and heroic pursuit.

He didn't bother to wait for the passengers to clear before he jumped off the train. The reaction was instant; people were scattering and screaming at the sight of him. He whistled casually as he adjusted his hat and spectacles, then dusted off his pants before he looked for the right person to deliver the good news to his old friend.

He scanned the crowd until he spotted a trembling brunet sporting the deputy's badge. Perfect.

Alfred casually made his way to the man and leaned ominously over him. "Tell your sheriff that Alfred Jones is back and calling him out," he said in a low, dangerous voice that sounded absolutely ridiculous to his ears, but usually elicited the sort of reaction he wanted.

That case was no different, the man screamed and ran into town while Alfred just stayed behind and smirked as the crowd cleared the way for him. He couldn't have asked for a better greeting for his grand return.

It sure was good to be home.


	2. Chapter 2

**Dead or Alive  
**

**By: Liete**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters portrayed.**

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* * *

**

His parents had been searching for their easy ticket to fortune, like so many others when there had been tales of gold deposits in California, but in the end they barely made it into the New Mexico Territory before they'd opted to just settle down instead. The trip from the east had been rough enough, especially since he'd been just a child then.

That had been how Arthur Kirkland met Alfred Jones.

Alfred was one of the local children, a loud and rowdy brat with a penchant for trouble. He gave the schoolmarm hell and bothered the sheriff constantly.

"I'm gonna be one a'them vigilante types," he'd always say as he'd mock shoot the wanted posters. "I'll bring in those rascals before the sheriff can stop drinking his whiskey long enough to notice there's even trouble!"

Although Arthur would have preferred otherwise, Alfred had decided that he'd rather bother the English boy than play with the other children, and Arthur found himself unwittingly with a permanent companion. A companion who called him "Iggy" for reasons he'd never learned of. An infuriating child who mocked his accent and mannerisms and constantly dirtied his neat clothing.

Arthur tried not to remember how Alfred grew from a dirty faced boy into a handsome man--hard work at his father's request did wonders for him--and how he'd been deflowered after sneaking some bourbon from the local saloon and winding up babbling about how glorious Alfred was and how he'd wanted him for too long. He didn't want to remember how addicted he became to their encounters afterward, drunken or otherwise.

He remembered and rued, however, the day Alfred went from a headstrong teen who just talked big to a dirty outlaw whose face was plastered on wanted posters across the territory. The bank robbery with Alfred holding the stolen money, Arthur with his father's pistol, too entranced by blue eyes that he was too used to seeing inflamed with passion, Alfred goading him ("go on, Iggy. Shoot me"), and in the end, he hadn't been able to do it. Alfred had dropped the money and run, catching a departing train heading westward. The news spread like a wildfire that it had been Arthur who had let the culprit get away.

It had taken five years of painstaking work, catching criminal after criminal, to mend his sullied reputation, but the work had paid off. He'd been appointed sheriff and made the town the safest place in the territory and possibly anywhere in the country. He was respected, feared, as he always should have been.

All that was left to do, and what he swore he would accomplish, was to finish the job he'd started. Alfred was far too cocky to stay away forever, he'd most assuredly return one day to gloat.

And when he did, Arthur would kill him.

---

Arthur was roused from his nap by the telltale screaming of his deputy, he'd probably seen a coyote, and groaned as he stretched the painful kinks from his back as he waited for the Italian to make his appearance.

"It's terrible, sheriff!" the man shrieked as he entered the jail, panting and looking close to either throwing up or fainting. "Just terrible!"

Arthur tsked and adjusted himself in his chair. "Let me guess, the coyotes stole your supper again?"

"No! It's him! Al-" He paused to wave his arms emphatically. "Alfred Jones! He's back and he's calling you out!"

Arthur froze and he fell out of the chair as a result. He scrambled to his feet and desperately tried to gather his scattered thoughts. Alfred was _back_? He was back and-

"Ve…what do we do, sheriff?" the deputy whined, but by then Arthur had found his resolve. He grabbed his pistol, shoved past the sniveling Italian and ran out into the street.

---

Alfred whistled a jolly tune as he casually walked through his hometown, smiling pleasantly at every person who fled in terror from him. He beamed as he passed by his old school, the local saloon, the bank, the general store, and other landmarks that had many fond memories associated with them. How good it was to be home again!

Soon the dusty street was empty, save for the wind and a few horses, but there were eyes watching him. The terrified citizens were no doubt wondering what Alfred Jones wanted back in the town he'd abandoned and when was their savior, sheriff Iggy, going to show up?

Alfred was wondering that himself as he ambled towards the jail and winked at some pretty faces in a nearby window. Wasn't Iggy supposed to be some tough guy sheriff who was ruthless in his pursuit? Had he really been a criminal, he would have been long gone by then!

"Jones!"

Alfred grinned brightly at the appearance of his dear friend, who looked as riled up as ever. He hadn't grown in size at all, as scrawny as he'd been since he could remember, which made Alfred wonder what sort of pathetic outlaws had actually been captured by the man. Regardless, it was good to see him, really. He'd missed his prickly companion.

"Howdy, Iggy! I heard you were the sheriff in these parts, so I thought I'd extend my congratulations!" Alfred chirped brightly and strolled ever closer until Arthur pulled out his pistol and aimed it right between Alfred's eyes. Then he stopped and his smile faded slightly.

"You bastard! This ends here and now!" Arthur snarled and moved his finger to the trigger.

Alfred held his arms up and put on his best bewildered look.

"Hey now, Iggy! I ain't armed! That's dirty tactics you're using!"

"Shut up! I won't be falling for that act again!"

"No, really! I don't have a gun and I never did! You got it all wrong, Iggy!"

Arthur squared his jaw and it was there that Alfred saw his chance. He smirked to himself and rushed forward. Iggy may have had the gun, but Alfred was faster. Arthur's eyes widened and his finger squeezed around the trigger, but it was too late. Alfred grabbed his arm, forcing the gun upwards where the shot fired into the air before the gun clattered to the ground, and held Arthur firmly in place.

"I bet you haven't forgotten, Iggy," he whispered into Arthur's ear, dragging his lips along the shell and smirking wider when the smaller man shivered.

---

Arthur trembled at Alfred's close proximity, his heady voice and those lips brushing his ear, and for a moment he thought about giving in. No, he'd never forgotten. His dreams constantly reminded him of how badly he wanted Alfred. Now, then, always. He couldn't forget if he wanted to. It would be oh so easy to give into his desire and let Alfred have his way with him. Alfred was even more magnificent than he had been when he'd left.

But then he felt eyes on him. Several pairs of eyes, in fact. Then he remembered how long it had taken to mend his reputation, how he'd worked so hard to be respected, and how he'd promised himself that he wouldn't let Alfred get the best of him ever again. The townsfolk were counting on him to capture Alfred Jones the criminal, and that was what he was going to do.

Alfred was distracted with trying to get him to come undone, and Arthur sucked in a breath when Alfred's teeth grazed his ear, and he knew he only had one chance to redeem himself, one chance to capture Alfred. His eyes flickered from the side of Alfred's face to where the gun had fallen on the ground and back and he swallowed. One chance.

It was when Alfred's hands shifted that he saw his opening and Arthur jumped at the opportunity. He abruptly shoved Alfred off of him, dove for the gun while sweeping his leg at Alfred's, knocking the man off his feet, and then pointed the gun between the outlaw's eyes and smirked at the dazed expression on his face.

"Bang bang, Jones," he hissed and reached for the rope he'd looped on his belt. He'd done it. He'd won.

---

Alfred pouted in the jail cell he'd been placed in while Arthur smirked from his chair and idly tossed the keys in the air. The public execution was scheduled for the next day and until then Arthur was free to torture the bastard as he pleased. But how to do so was the question at hand. So many things he wanted to say and do! Really, though, what he wanted most was to ravish him, take what he'd desired for so long before Alfred was gone.

"Looks like you really grew a pair, Iggy! I'm impressed!" Alfred said, interrupting his thoughts. Arthur narrowed his eyes at the brilliant smile the man was giving him. He stood and sauntered over to the bars where he grinned at the American tied up inside.

"And you are as ignorant as ever, Jones. I'm on top now, as I always should have been."

"You really have forgotten then, haven't you, Iggy? You were never on top," Alfred said with a meaningful smile. Arthur's grin faded and he slammed the cell open and kicked Alfred over on the tiny bed.

"I haven't forgotten, and I'll make sure _you _won't forget as you march to your death who is really the one on top."

Alfred didn't resist, just continued to stubbornly smirk.

---

Arthur groaned as he roused from sleep. His head hurt, and he couldn't remember why. He hadn't been drinking at all, so that couldn't be it. He rubbed his aching temples and eased himself out of bed. When he hit a cold floor instead of his battered rug, he realized where he was. Naked. In the jail cell. He groaned as he tried to remember what had transpired. He'd been with Alfred the night before, but then..?

Alfred was gone, he realized and the cell was closed. Arthur gasped and ran over to the door, which he rattled to no avail. It was locked. He felt like screaming in frustration, and then something caught his eye outside. The keys, for one thing, and his clothes folded in a neat pile on the chair with a note propped up beside them.

_Mornin' sheriff! It was fun and all, but I'm afraid the west is calling! How about next time I take _you_ for a ride?_

With that, the events of the night before came flooding back. Ah yes, he'd had his wicked way with Alfred, of course, but that bastard was a spry one, and he'd managed to break free from the ropes binding him and knock Arthur out afterwards.

Arthur sunk to his knees and laughed. Laughed maniacally at how, in the end, he'd lost once again and all he could do was wait for the deputy to find him. He didn't know how he'd ever recover from this one.

---

There really was nothing he loved more than freedom. The world was large and full of opportunities just waiting to be discovered, and Alfred was determined to be the one to seize those opportunities. The train puffed ever westward, bringing Alfred to his next great adventure, his next great chance to expand his infamy.

He pulled his hat from his head and closed his eyes, letting the wind blow through his hair.

It was great to be alive.


End file.
